


Se'enight

by Sophie_Of_Tarth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:30:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2859059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophie_Of_Tarth/pseuds/Sophie_Of_Tarth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Anon with apologies, the prompt being " Jaime surprises Brienne with a marriage proposal in the middle of a harsh winter".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Se'enight

Brienne felt as if she lived the next se’enight like one condemned to die on the seventh day. She threw herself into every activity and game that could be thought up by those present in an effort to forget, something she had always been loathe to do before the end of her life as she had known it loomed.

She sat with endless patience as Sansa paraded past in gown after gown the young Stark had painstakingly stitched herself, and she challenged Ser Jaime Lannister to a game of cyvasse, something Brienne had enjoyed in the past but had never had the opportunity to indulge in once her strange and exhausting travels had begun.

Now, sat at a late hour in the unusual quiet of the hall (as for once everyone was abed), a flagon of wine at their side, Brienne soaked in every precious moment she had to her, every gust of cold winter wind against the shutters, every contented snort from the hounds that lay in front of the fire. All was at its most peaceful, and everything, even the weather, seemed to be doing its best to break her heart over how much it was going to change.

Jaime grinned when she challenged him to a game. When she asked him if he knew how to play he simply raised his brows and said he had occasionally been stupid enough to play against his brother, and then had fallen quiet.

Brienne studied the board with what appeared to be the utmost concentration, only stirring when Jaime cleared his throat in the silence, the rough noise making her jump slightly. She glanced up to see a pair of emerald bright eyes watching her like a hawk.

“What are you up to?” he asked her suddenly,

Brienne looked at him, confused and a little startled before shrugging slightly and looking down once more at the board and pieces, “playing cyvasse.”

“No, I meant what are you planning?” Jaime studied her face closely, “I never meant to know you so well that one look, one sigh is enough to tell me something is not right. But I do, and it seems I can. So, tell me.”

“I’m happy that we have survived,” Brienne replied as evasively as she could. It was the truth, but not the whole truth.

The truth was this. This was what made her glad she had survived; this was what made her sad for what was to come, this companionship, this man _, this_ _whatever that was between them_ , “and I am happy to be beating you.”

Brienne moved another piece from the board.

“At cyvasse?” Came the smooth, low reply, “Or at something else?”

“What else is there?”

“You tell me?”

Brienne felt her heart slow to a sluggish stop as she absorbed his words, “I don’t… I don’t know what you mean.” She stumbled across the words slightly, and then frowned as another one of her pieces was whisked away with unseemly haste, “or are you asking me that as a low ruse to distract me from my game?” Brienne managed finally, quietly, proud of the generous inflection of scorn she had managed to inject into her tone.

“No ruse,” replied Jaime, a furrow appearing in his handsome brow as he stared down at the board, “I know when I am being kept at a proper distance. What I want to know is do you burn for me in the same way that I burn for you – constantly it seems.”

His tone was level, conversational, as unemotional as if they were talking about the weather.

Brienne’s breath caught, choked in her throat. She put an unsteady hand to the edge of the board and shut her eyes briefly, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Even to her own ears, her words sounded faint, uncertain.

“Oh, come on!” His left hand sneaked out and caught her wrist, scattering the game before them. One of the dogs growled low at Jaime’s angry tone and Brienne marvelled at how swiftly the atmosphere in the hall had changed from restful bliss to this hot tension, “did you not know?”

She stared down at the ruined game of cyvasse, feeling it symbolic of where she was with her life. Elephants, horses, spearmen and dragons lay scattered over the board, no direction, no purpose any more.

“I know only that you seem to like to spend more time than is probably wise with me,” Brienne admitted wryly, “I have heard no songs sung and I have yet to read any poems that  go on at length about my many virtues. At Evenfall…”

“Poems and songs?” Jaime had the expression of one who had been vaguely insulted, at which Brienne could not help but smile. He might say he loved her, he might protest his desire, but it was entirely likely that this handsome, desirable creature had never had to truly love anyone.

_Maybe he just waits for people to fall in love with him,_ she thought.

“Stay with me Brienne,” he loosened his grip on her wrist to the gentlest caress, before releasing her altogether, “stay with me.” The bewitching green eyes looked up to hold her own, “I will arrange it so that you live in the lap of luxury, you can move to Kings Landing or stay at Casterly Rock…”

_Is he asking me to be his…?_

“Ser! You are surely not suggesting that you would establish me, the heir of Tarth as your…,” Brienne could not believe she had just heard what she had. So used to being the ugly maid, the wench with the face that could curdle milk, to then be told by this veritable god of a man, a lion no less, that he would have her publicly as his mistress, “p… p… paramour?”

Brienne started to laugh, and then found she could not stop. It was as if all the years of hurtful taunts, slurs and insults had rolled themselves up into one huge ball of mirth and it could not be denied. Gales of laughter bubbled up beyond her control, and kept bubbling up until even she was beginning to wonder at her own reason, until a perplexed Jaime went to slap her across the face.

She caught his hand in one deft fist.

“By the eyes of the maid, Ser Jaime, you know I would never agree to such an arrangement,” Brienne bit out, suddenly cold sober. She stared long and hard into the long lashed pools of emerald that could dance with humour one moment, then flash wildfire green the next. Without thinking, her free hand went to his lean cheek. “We have fought together far too long for me to be anything other than completely honest with you.”

“Is there one person left in Westeros that does not believe us to be lovers?” Jaime snapped suddenly, “Including me?” He glanced quickly round at the deserted hall, staring hard at the sleeping dogs by the fire before he hissed, “What is that we do every night if it is not make love?”

Brienne felt herself flush bright red at his words, releasing him before glancing down at her hands. She could see them shaking slightly as she realised that she had to tell Jaime the truth. That in less than seven days a ship was to arrive from Tarth to take her away, from him _, forever_.

He must know that it never could have lasted. That now that they had fought their biggest battle, survived the end of days, now that Tarth was reinstated as her legacy that their time together had to finally come to an end.

_Tyrion had already sent word for Jaime and Sansa to return to Kings Landing._

Jaime made as if to speak, but Brienne raised one hand to halt him.

 “A ship comes from Tarth in seven days,” she blurted out, “I am to be wed. My father has decreed that as the heir…,” Brienne took a deep breath as her voice quavered, almost broke, “He says I must, on my honour…”

“I know.”

“Be- what?”

“I know.”  Jaime frowned, “Were you not aware of the multitude of ravens that flew back and forth between Tarth and Kings Landing on our return from Harrenhal? You are a high born lady, and apparently your reputation suffered grossly at my hands during our time together. Did you not wonder at my father’s preoccupation with removing me from the Kingsguard? Your father’s determination to strike an agreement over your future coincided with my own deciding it was time for me to retire to Casterly Rock and breed heirs. The Evenstar proved himself a wily man, demanding that nothing less than marriage could compensate the family for the slur of the heir being called the Kingslayer’s whore.”

“But you refused him,” Brienne reminded him, her voice the barest whisper.

“It appears that never stopped my father from doing what he thought needed to be done for House Lannister.”

“But you refused him before, and sent me away to find Sansa.”

_Did he know about her vow, the one about accepting chastisement only from a man who could outfight her?_

“Things change, people change, but this does not,” Jaime leant forward suddenly deadly serious, “the agreement stands, Lady Brienne. “

He regarded her shocked expression for a moment, his eyes softening before he asked her gently, “Would you be happy, to let the marriage agreement between our two... between us... stand?”

 Brienne could only blink back at him, before nodding briefly once, then twice.

_Yes._

 "Yes." She replied, and then just in case he needed it repeating, "Yes, yes I think I would."

 

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt actually read "Canon compliant: Jaime surprises Brienne with a marriage proposal in the middle of a harsh winter" so I owe Anon an apology for galloping off at a tangent. Sorry Anon.  
> 


End file.
